


The Ghost and the Lady

by joy_shines



Category: Jane Eyre - Charlotte Brontë
Genre: Canon Character of Color, F/M, Female Character of Color, Mental Disintegration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 11:08:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8888548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joy_shines/pseuds/joy_shines
Summary: Of course Thornfield is haunted. Everyone says so, and they're absolutely right. Just ask the lady of the house.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [incandescent (lmeden)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lmeden/gifts).



_ I dreamt it last night, my young love came in _

This house is haunted. They all say it, have said it as long as I have been here, but it was not true until now. I felt it, when the spectre arrived. They think I don’t notice these changes. They think I can’t tell, because my words aren’t right they don’t come out my mouth but pour through my veins along my hairs standing them on end - 

They thought I wouldn’t notice. But I felt it creep in, one dark night, grey as a mouse as a stormcloud as a corpse. Such a little thing. I know. If she were here on honest business, why, she would have come to see me, to see the lady of the house. She would have come to my parlor in the afternoon, have taken tea with me here on my sofa, with our maidservants laying the table. She would not have come sneaking in the darkness, creeping to that Fairfax woman and spurning me. She would not. 

She stands with the goblin child, out of doors, watching her play. No wonder - the ghost and the goblin together. She blends in with the dry grass, like the great lizards do with the sandy earth here outside Spanish Town. There is so much dry grass. I must speak to the gardners. They have been neglecting the orchids again.   


_ They walked out one morning, one morning, one morning. They walked out one morning, one morning in May. _

I saw his look, his eyes as he walked the grounds with her. I see it all now. The ghost is part of my spell. I summoned, her, I! Called her in on the wind, over the hills, called her in to take vengeance and make things right. Why else would she be so grey and pale? The wind blows through her, and her edges waver. She fades, making him look harder to see her, to find her out. She has caught him, enchanted him. Such a little thing to undo Edward Fairfax Rochester. I saw her weaving my spell for me, her smile that conceals so much, the tilt of her head, and I laughed, I did, victory burbling out of me. She will catch him as he caught me, bring him low. She will bind him, and I will be warm again.

_ And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not. _

Damnation, where is my light? All for nothing, it was, see no good comes of it no good will come of it I didn’t see -  _ he _ is catching  _ her _ how could I not see? Of course he would. He will catch her, catch her and bind her and make her like me, trapped in the body, words trapped in the throat, thoughts trapped in the head, nothing but laughter and screams...he will do it in the dark. Always in the dark. I will go. I will bring light to the darkness she will  **not** be like me I will shine light on his wickedness. I will take the light to his bedroom. Red Grace is heavy with her porter - she will not hear.

The candle was not enough. I looked, but I could not find her in the bed. She is so light, so little, perhaps she is in the corners - perhaps she is frightened. So I made more light, more and more light, but I could not find her. He does not have her yet! She is safe, the little spirit, how clever she is to evade him - how clever I am to bring the light, to drive the dark away. When I left him, the light was all over, creeping towards him. I think it will consume him. For a moment, in the light, I was warm.

_ When I was a young girl, I used to seek pleasure _

He has done it, caught her close and laid his lips to hers and bound her to his wretched self and this forsaken place. He has done it, and I must find a way to undo it. I did not see him weaving, weaving. I did see, but not the pattern, only the strands. I saw  _ her _ , proud and beautiful, proud and beautiful, like starring in a mirror - my double, my fetch. I saw him wound the little grey ghost with his attentions to my haughty double, and I rejoiced to see this spell succeed where the light had failed. I do not like that she should be sad, that she should grow paler and ever more wan...but it is better so. Better that she should grow sad and light enough to slip away, find a better place to haunt. A warmer place, to put roses in her cheeks. I wanted to tell her so, tell her about my home, how all is green and lush and how she would prosper there. 

It was deception, all of it. I should have known, should have seen it all, all, all when my cursed brother arrived. Still, even now, he thwarts my plans, plots destruction with my captor. He cannot stand things that persevere, that thrive where they are planted for  _ he _ has never found the ground in which he thrives yet. He wilts in the heat of Jamaica and withers in this cold, harsh land. So he conspires with Rochester, I know he does. But I have driven him forth, and I feel his blood singing in my own veins - he will do no more mischief these many weeks! 

But too late it was, for I saw them. Lightning flashed, and I saw them, running hand in hand in from the rain. I saw him embrace her and kiss her. She is so happy - she thinks she is. She is burning up with it, like a fever. She will burn away with the fire of his touch, his gaze, his scorn until there is nothing of her left but ash and a voice on the wind. What can I do?

_ I am black, but comely, oh ye daughters of Jamaica _

The time approaches. He goes out with her, her and the goblin child. He talks of schools and villas, oh yes, he is scheming to take them away, away from me, away from the little protection I can offer. I am, after all, still mistress of this place, a queen in my castle. Sometimes I think, she does not deserve my protection, the hussy! Wraith or no, she shan’t marry my...but no, no, no. This is not her sin. She must not understand - how can she, when he keeps her from me? No, his are the plans - his the deceptions. I will show her how it is with me, how it shall be with her. She will see, and she will flee.

She was terrified of me. Well she should be, for I put on the veil of oppression and showed her the face of marriage to that monster. The mirror tells me I succeeded - I looked nothing like myself - my eyes crimson, with black bags hanging under them. Truly, if I hadn’t known better, I should have thought myself the spectre, rather than her. I showed her the face of What Shall Be for her, ripped apart the garments of death (white as the clay they were), and brought her the light, as a token. She lay trembling, more like a girl than a sprite, and it pained me to fear her so. But what’s done is done, and so it is done, and well done, too. 

_ Those whom are so joined, let none put asunder _

He is saying -  **they** are saying I rave, but I do not rave it is only that the words will not come. And what should I do, pray, what should I do when that faithless whoreson lead a band of strangers to his lady wife’s chamber? What, to see me in my dressing gown? What, to shame me before them all? And  _ her _ , he showed me to  _ her _ as if I were no more than an animal, as though I were the beast the monster the demon not him. My brother was there too, damn him. I heard him. He still thinks I’m his to direct, to bid, to mold - but no. I  **am** the lady of the house, indeed I am, and now they all know it. 

I think she might have been my friend, in another place. She was frightened, so frightened, and she pities me - how I loathe it - but I think we might have been friends. I wanted to take her little hands in mine and tell her go, go, now while you can. Go, before he changes your mind. Go, while you are yet yourself and free. Go, and I will go with you, go to freedom, go to liberty, go to the light, little spirit. But he came between us, his wretched arms like iron, ever my captor - for what else is a husband? 

_ All is safely gathered in, ‘ere the winter storms begin. _

My house is so quiet, so quiet. He stalks the halls like a ghost himself. He must have sent the goblin girl away - I do not hear her cackling any more. Nor do I see  _ her. _ But she is so small, so lithe - she could be anywhere. He could have caught her, locked her in some  far chamber. I roam the halls at night, in the dark, but I do not find her. Red Grace will not leave a candle lit, now, so I have no light. I need the light to see her, if she is still here, for harvest is coming, and she must be gone. So many are gone already - I did not think I would miss the goblin’s noises, or the Fairfax woman’s scolding. I counted myself lucky to have peace - but peace I cannot have until I know she is safe. She must be safe before winter comes, safe in the warm - she cannot live in the cold, I think.

He walks the halls like a ghost, like his hell-light has gone out of him, but he has deceived me before. I cannot trust this. I must get light. I tried a roomful of light, but that did not consume him. If I could but fill the house with light - ah, then I would find her, if she is kept captive. A whole house of light would surely do for him. So bright - he would not stand before it. I shall watch and wait. Red Grace will not be careful always.

The light is everywhere the house is full of it light upstairs downstairs in my own chambers but still I do not see her. I do not see I do not find and the light is so warm, warmer by far than home, warmer than noon in summer. She must have flown this cursed place, and now the light is taking it. Not a ghost but a good spirit, holding back his darkness. He is calling me, calling calling as though he thinks I would hear him, go back turn back to him. He is afraid because the light is here for him is here for me but I am not afraid. I am not. I shall be in the light and I shall never be cold again. 

**Author's Note:**

> Dearest recipient, my first impulse was to read _Wide Sargasso Sea_ for you, so I could write something involving both. But then I came to my senses and realized that I hadn't the time. :-/ But I had this germ of an idea, so I ran with it - and thoroughly enjoyed working with it! I hope you're able to enjoy this Bertha's POV, even if she doesn't match the one in your head (or in Wide Sargasso Sea!). I am also sorry, because there was so much in your letter I wanted to be able to write for you - I also love Norse religion and American Gods! And I would love to read the stories you described...but I don't tend to write things that plotty, and a plotbunny didn't arrive for me. I'm so sorry, and I hope another writer will fulfill those wishes for you. I wish you the merriest Yuletide, and whichever other holidays you may celebrate this season.


End file.
